


Rocinante

by klutzysurgeon



Category: One Piece
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Childhood Trauma, Found Family, Gen, Growing Up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-30 17:34:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11468358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klutzysurgeon/pseuds/klutzysurgeon
Summary: A quiet voice breaks the silence, still a little hoarse and unsure: “....Rocinante.”It’s the first word he’s spoken the entire time and Sengoku doesn’t press for more, smiling as he ruffles the blonde’s hair. “Rocinante, hm? It’s a good name. A strong, sturdy-sounding name.” Sengoku laughs. “I bet you’ll grow into it.”//isn't it tragic how growing up doesn't always imply growing old; rocinante only lived for twenty-six years. sengoku watched him grow for fourteen.For Corazon Week 2017, Day 2: Regret / Pride





	Rocinante

He’s so… _small._

Sengoku stares at the child clinging to his leg, the boy looking up at him with barely visible red eyes hidden behind matted blonde hair. He hasn’t said a word since they’d picked him up, though he’d nodded when Sengoku had asked if he’d wanted to come with them. It's not as though it's kidnapping; he was alone and clearly neglected, and he'd come along _willingly_ for however much a child's quiet consent can mean. At the time, it had seemed like a good idea, but the Marines had done some digging into just who they'd found and...

Now he’s feeling far less certain that he made the right choice. He doesn’t know how to care for a _regular_ child, let alone a traumatized ex-Celestial Dragon. Looking at the frail, scared little boy now, it’s hard to remember he’s got the blood of so-called gods. “Hey now, it’ll be fine,” Sengoku tries, bending over and awkwardly patting the boy’s head. The child recoils from his touch at first, though he clings harder to his pants leg and presses himself closer with a sniffle.

Alright, so. Talking doesn’t work.

He’d figured that out by now anyway, unable to get the boy to respond beyond nodding. The child doesn’t even shake his head no, only nods for yes at certain things. “...Are you hungry?” Sengoku tries, keeping his tone as light and non-threatening as he can. It feels like he’s won something when the boy gives a shaky nod after a few moments, and he carefully moves around to his desk to offer the bag of rice crackers to the child.

They’ll have to get him proper food later, but it’s the only thing he has readily available and besides, who knows how long since the child has last eaten a proper meal. It wouldn’t do to offer him a feast only to have him throw it up moments later. “Rice crackers,” Sengoku smiles. “My favorite.” As if to demonstrate, he takes one from the bag and crunches on it. “Want one?”

Another jerky nod, one tiny hand detaching from his leg to reach for the bag and he holds it while the boy reaches in. Surprisingly, he pulls out only one, eating it with more care than Sengoku would have expected from a starving child and something about it makes his heart twinge. “...You can have more than one,” he offers. “The whole bag, if you’d like.”

There’s a tiny squeak, blonde hair ruffling as those eyes peek up at him, round and wide. He doesn’t hesitate a moment longer before reaching for the bag, crumpling the plastic loudly as he reaches in for a handful and crunches down on them.

Sengoku manages to crouch down in front of him now that the kid's let go of his leg entirely and his heart is most certainly pained when he realizes the boy is crying again, silent tears running down his face as he noisily eats the rice crackers. “They’re good, aren’t they?” Sengoku grins. “I always snack on them, even though I’m not supposed to have them in my office. Gets crumbs everywhere, they complain.”

There’s no response save for the crunching of crackers but he’ll count that as a victory too. It’s important that the kid eats, after all. He’s got no way of knowing how long he’d been out there, standing crying among the rubble. He’d passed out sometime after they found him, exhausted and frail and Sengoku doesn’t want to think about how he'd gotten those injuries or just how many bandages the boy is sporting right now, medical gauze all over his tiny body.

He’d mumbled something about his family when he’d been barely conscious, crying out for his older brother and father in a hoarse voice but the Marine scouts confirmed there was no one else in the area. At the very least, they know the boy isn’t physically mute but he still won’t speak and it worries Sengoku. Did the doctors examine his throat? He may have literally screamed himself raw…

The quiet draws his attention, refocusing his attention to see that the bag is empty, the boy standing and clutching it with both hands. “See, they’re tasty, aren’t they?”

A nod, slow and hesitant and Sengoku tries to push while he thinks he can, placing his hand very gently on the boy’s arm when he doesn’t recoil. “I’m Sengoku,” he introduces. He’d said it before but he doesn’t know if the child had really been listening, too antsy about being in a new place to pay attention. “Can you tell me your name, please?”

The silence drags on and he thinks he won’t be getting an answer this time, either; he’s not cut out for this kind of thing, intimidating figure and rough voice hardly any reassurance to a traumatized child. He should have asked Tsuru to take the boy, or left him at the clinic. They could at least look after him physically, but—

A quiet voice breaks the silence, still a little hoarse and unsure: “....Rocinante.”

It’s the first word he’s spoken the entire time and Sengoku doesn’t press for more, smiling as he ruffles the blonde’s hair. “Rocinante, hm? It’s a good name. A strong, sturdy-sounding name.” Sengoku laughs. “I bet you’ll grow into it.”

And that brings the real problem to attention, doesn’t it? _Growing_. A Celestial Dragon outside of Mariejois is nothing short of a lamb waiting for the slaughter. It’s not like he himself cares for them at all– holy demons, abusing their birthright to make other people miserable. Oh, he knows better than to say it out loud, everyone does, but it’s hardly a secret how much they’re hated.

But this boy, covered in bandages with a voice that sounds as fragile as glass and teary eyes that are looking up at Sengoku with far too much trust... This isn't a  _Celestial Dragon._ This isn't some holy demon, some higher being with a twisted sense of self. This— Rocinante— is just a child, and Sengoku can't imagine handing him off to the cruel treatment that would await him. No one comes to mind who might treat the child fairly; Tsuru wouldn't hate him for the circumstances of his birth, but she's never cared much for children. Garp is certainly someone he trusts, but he's seen the way that man handles children; this scared little boy wouldn't survive five minutes of Garp's heavy-handed parenting.

Which leaves the obvious choice, even if he knows it’s the least sensible one— if you want something done right...

 

“Well then, Rocinante… Do you want to stay here with me?”

**Author's Note:**

> hi it's 11:55pm I barely made it in time for [today's event](https://corazon-week.tumblr.com/prompts) and also this has ten more scenes to go so like. 10k more to go minimum. this is gonna take awhile, whoopsy. but I wanted to publish _something_ for today, so consider this a teaser before the real angst hits in later chapters :^)


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